


Good Help Is Not So Hard to Find

by Regency



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, BAMF Eggsy, Banter, Canon-Typical Violence, Eggsy being a little shit and Harry being into it, Gen, Harry and Merlin being bros, Innuendo, M/M, Merlin micromanages the world, Pre-Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 08:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4514736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regency/pseuds/Regency
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry doesn't <em>need</em> a valet--thank you very much, Merlin--but he'll take one if Eggsy Unwin is the standard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Help Is Not So Hard to Find

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrsgingles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsgingles/gifts).



Harry meets his new valet when a mission gone belly-up forces him to beat a very elegant retreat out of a gentleman’s social club at the peak of rush hour on a workday.

It’s admittedly not his finest moment.

The kingsman launches himself into the backseat of the black Kingsman issue taxicab and ducks out of sight of his pursuers, trusting the driver to ask questions only when the time comes much, much later. They peel away from the kerb with advancing speed, the driver weaving the vehicle steadily through London’s slow moving traffic without becoming caught in the gridlock.  Their point of departure is a distant smoking storefront in the rear-view by the time Harry feels comfortable turning his attention to Merlin’s furious commentary pouring through his glasses.

“That was by far the most ridiculous stunt you’ve ever pulled.”

“Surely, not the most ridiculous. Have you forgotten Tunisia in ‘97?”  He can all but hear Merlin’s teeth grinding in pained remembrance.

“All right, not the most ridiculous, but easily in the top ten.  You could have been discovered.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You could have been _killed_.”

‘But I wasn’t’ doesn’t seem a very kind response in light of recent events.  Merlin was the one to watch their friend die only weeks ago and has been responsible for overseeing his replacement since. He has every reason to take the fatality personally, as he does every one of Kingsman’s losses.

“I’ll endeavour to do better in the future.”  It isn’t a promise—not that Merlin would believe him if he made one—but it means that he’ll try to stay alive for his companion’s sake.  They have too much growing old to do not to do it together.

Harry fields Merlin’s somewhat mollified invective with the facility of long-lived friendship.  Yes, he used a hand grenade despite the mission calling for the utmost discretion. No, the Rainmaker is not a suitable stand-in for an epée.  Yes, he understands that he is singularly responsible for Merlin’s premature baldness and just how long are they going continue to pull from that well? And, no, Harry has no interest in babysitting the new Lancelot recruits but thank you for asking.

“I’m the last person who ought to be training recruits. What if they turned out like me?”

“Saints preserve us, I’d tender my resignation a month in.”

“You’d be bored in a day.  Admit it, the madcap ones keep things interesting.”

“I’m not about to encourage you; I’ll admit no such thing.  And don’t think you’re off the hook for the damages to that club. I’ll be forwarding the bill directly to your accountant.”

“They’re criminals, make them pay for it.”

“You know how this works.”

“I’ll be ruined.”  He sulks.

“You’re nineteenth in line for the throne, I think your bank vault can handle the strain.” Merlin types away at his terminal.  “That’ll teach you to play nicely with others.”

“They’re terrorists. Be reasonable.”

“Wanton destruction is not the Kingsman way.”

“Wanton destruction is exactly what we do. We just do it with more style than the average mercenary.”

The sound of an amused snort from the front of the taxi drifts towards the back, momentarily distracting Harry from annoying Merlin any further.  It’s then he realizes that he doesn’t recognize the figure manning his taxicab.  Although Harry is often too preoccupied to socialize with his drivers, he tries to make a point of being familiar with them in case the opportunity arises. This man—more boy than man, honestly—is new to him.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. I’m Harry Hart and you are?”

“The name’s Eggsy Unwin. Thank you for choosing to employ Unwin Automobiles. So lovely to have your patronage. Be a love and strap in, would ya?”

Harry’s brows rise behind his tortoiseshell glasses; Merlin’s incipient chuckle isn’t helping end his confusion.  “Who are you exactly?” The name is too familiar and doesn’t jive at all with Harry’s eternal image of his late proposal’s young son. _Has is really been that long?_

“Merlin didn’t tell you?”

 Harry ignores his dear friend’s taunting in his ear. He’s going to enjoy making him suffer later. “It would appear not.”

“I’m your new valet.”  Harry blinks twice. Surely he hadn’t been _that_ late to Merlin’s most recent knights’ gathering. Someone would have mentioned the institution of valet keeping. Surely?

“We don’t employ valets.”

“You do know.”  The boy offers him a cheeky wink.  “Pleasure’s all mine, luv. Now, strap in. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a tail and I’d hate to tell His Wizard Highness I’ve gone and got his prettiest agent all smashed up.”

Before Merlin can argue or Harry can demand an explanation for that last crack, the boy stamps on the gas, throwing Harry, fine reflexes and all, back into his seat as they whip through midday traffic on a knife’s edge.

“Bloody hell, Merlin. Where did you find this boy?”

“He’s the cream of the crop, dear. Only the best for my best agent,” his handler replies, bone dry.

“Is this punishment for the Rainmaker?” Harry grabs onto the handhold overhead as they swerve 180 degrees and begin to careen _backward_ down a side street. Harry can see their pursuers following with much less skill but far more inconspicuously. Does the boy have any concept of the word ‘discretion’? _Oh, I see…_ Merlin can be horribly proprietary about his Ignite the Night devices. A right Scrooge.  “The lighter. Merlin, really, this isn’t a little passive aggressive? You’re Scottish, for Christ’s sake.”

“This is payback for the last thirty years, you utter prat. Enjoy your pageboy. I made sure to pick a handsome one. Never say I don’t reward your terrible behaviour.”

“I am not a cradle robber.” Never mind that the boy’s eyes catch his time and again in the rear-view mirror and that he appears to like what he sees.

“Not that it’s any of my business, but you can’t rob the willing, bruv.  Snatch me up anytime.”

“Eyes on the road!”

Eggsy just misses swiping a fresh flower vendor on the kerb and they send a poor courier on a bicycle swerving onto the sidewalk to avoid them.

“Sorry ‘bout that!”

“ _Sorry_ , he says.”

“Reminds me of a probationary agent I used to know.”

“I was never this reckless,” Harry contends, indignant.

“Horseshit. You forget I knew you when. You’re twice as reckless in your old age.”

“I’m three years older than you.”

“Note the _older_ there.”

“Prick.”

“Pansy.”

“Cock.”

“I’m beginning to sense a theme.  Perhaps you should give our friend a chance to help.”

Harry snipes, “This dialogue is right out of a bad porn movie.”

Eggsy starts to whistle the Mission Impossible theme as they change lanes at high speed, earning a cacophony of aggravated horns blown in their general direction. It’s not a little mortifying though Harry doesn’t actually fear for his life. Once you’ve leapt between Eurostar railcars passing simultaneously through the Channel Tunnel at 160 km/h, there’s very little at ground level to be frightened about.

“Mission Impossible doesn’t qualify as pornography,” he opines, although he imagines there’s likely a convincing parody or two somewhere on the internet.

“Depends on what you’re into, I’d think. Nice toys and pretty boys, my kind of movie.” He winks at Harry’s reflection and hangs a tightly controlled right down an empty residential street.  It’s clear he’s circling round to Savile row the long way.

“Galahad’s, too,” Merlin intones, positively cheerful in his monotone fashion, the bastard.

“Not helping, Merlin.”

“Not trying, Galahad.”

This is the man he chooses to call his best friend. He’s getting exactly what he deserves in the offing.

“What the hell is this? Is this a pilot program Arthur’s floating? Are the investors putting pressure on us?”

Merlin clacks away over the open channel.  “You know very well that for all of its advanced technology, Kingsman is first and foremost a traditional institution. Why rely on technology when the hands of well-trained personnel will do?”

“Because it’s safer and cheaper.”

“You’re the wrong person to be talking about safe and inexpensive courses of action. Twat.”

“Do you need a moment or can we go back to talking about my predicament?”

“I told Arthur you were a blatant narcissist, but did he listen?”  Merlin interrupts before he can go on, “Shut up, I’m multitasking. Eggsy, dead on for two streets and then three rights.”

“Right on, guv!”

“Eggsy…” he returns, all stern where before he’d been lenient.

The boy sighs, green eyes visibly rolling in the side mirror.  “Roger that, Merlin. On for two and three rights.”

“Good man.”

Harry discreetly peeks over the backseat to see if they’re pursuers have given up the gambit. Not just yet. He sighs, straightens his shirt cuffs, and waits. He isn’t in control here, he’ll have to trust his guide, his…valet.

Even the word makes him shudder. Of course Arthur would approve such an action when he’s long thought Kingsman had deviated too far from its aristocratic roots. But this Eggsy Unwin—he’s certain now he must be Lee’s son with that accent and his distracting jawline—is not the sort of candidate Arthur would select for the position.  He would want somebody staid, happy to be seen and not heard, well-educated with a dearth of true ambition who lived to serve.

As Eggsy takes them flying over an unexpected dip in the road with a victorious ‘fuck yeah!’, Harry becomes convinced he must be dreaming, because Eggsy by no means fits the bill. Not for Arthur, at any rate. For Harry, on the other hand…for Harry, Eggsy verges on a perfect match. Obviously skilled, unaffected in demeanour, impulsive and forthright.  Harry doubts he could have done better if he himself had done the choosing.

Harry murmurs to his friend at HQ, “I have a feeling I should hold you accountable for the identity of my new valet.”

Merlin sees through him.  “You’re very welcome. I accept repayment in the form of eighteen-year-old Glenfiddich should you be feeling especially grateful in the near future.”

“I’ll bring it to the party the knights and support staff will be holding in honour of your birthday.”

“Nobody knows my birthday.”

“Not yet.”

“Backstabbing toerag.”

“You’re running out of epithets.”

“You underestimate my creativity. Left, Eggsy!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” is Harry’s only warning before he’s slammed shoulder first into his door and propelled to the floor.  Shock absorbers for Kingsman taxicabs are second to none; what they aren’t is foolproof. Harry clutches his bruised shoulder, cursing.  Eggsy hums in an apologetic key. “Did tell ya to strap in, didn’t I?”

“That you did.”  Harry buckles his seatbelt one-handed.  “Piss off, Merlin,” he says before the chief handler’s tutting can begin anew.

“Is that any way to talk to your favourite person? Take the bridge full across, make a right three streets down. You’ll come to an abandoned abbey. Head ‘round back. Hold off our baddies while I dispatch a local extraction team. Do that and you’re home free.”

Eggsy grins in abject glee as they pick up speed crossing the suspension bridge. “You’re the guvnor, Merlin.”

“That I am, son.  See, Galahad, he gets it.”

“I do believe I told you to piss off.”

“Somebody needs a nap. Take care of him, Eggsy. I’m fond of him despite myself.”

“I hear ya. Over and out.” Eggsy flicks a switch on the dashboard and the transmission inside the cab and on Harry’s glasses cut out.

“I’m going to murder him.”

“Don’t think he’d let you get close enough.”

“I’d only need to get within twenty feet.”

“That’ll happen,” Eggsy chirps sarcastically between silently mouthing the number of streets to go before they come to their destination.

Harry peers in the direction they’ve come from, squinting to separate their ardent pursuers from the civilians. Lots of late model sedans, a few lemons. Some SUVs and affordably priced cars.  Dead to the left and six cars back, a pair of matte black luxury vehicles are halving the distance in record time.  _Because nothing says inconspicuous like a limited edition BMW._   He laments the afternoon he’ll waste wiping the floor with these idiots for a second time _._

“Company has arrived,” he calls back to his show horse of a chauffeur, which Eggsy subsequently takes as his cue to execute an impressive, if stomach-turning, donut on the litter-strewn grounds of the derelict church to grab their followers’ notice.  When they screech toward the overgrown churchyard in back, the sleek vehicles are right on their trail.

Eggsy pulls behind the abbey’s hollow shell, between its empty rear entryway and the neglected cemetery abutting the river bank running through town.

The upside of their position is that their backs are to an open waterway, meaning their opponents would have to have prepared a water-based auxiliary to box them in. The downside of their position is that in choosing the burnout husk of the abbey as their foxhole, their only wheels out means of escape has been blocked. They’re going to have to shoot their way out or they’re going to have to swim. 

Kingsman suits are good for many things, but none of them are swimming. The material is too dense and heavy, not mention absorbent. An agent will drown if they can’t shed it before they run out of air.

Harry’s leans over the partition to see their pursuers pull to a stop through the broken windows of the abbey’s stone frame.

“Would it be expecting too much for you to have a Plan B to go with Merlin’s directions?”

“Plan A, shoot. Plan B, keep shooting.”

Harry purses his lips, wordlessly cursing Merlin’s name.  “That’s certainly convincing. Be a dear and duck, won’t you, Eggsy?”

Harry swings out the car, Rainmaker tucked under his arm. Before the other side can do more than kick out their doors he opens fire, pelting the two vehicles with armour-piercing bullets that puncture two reinforced tires and shatter a single windshield. Someone screams in pain.  Harry ducks behind his deployed umbrella just in time for one of the vehicles to erupt in a plume of scorching heat. No one moves.

The quietly awed “That is sick” emanating from behind him is similarly gratifying.

The pall lasts for all of a moment and then three figures appear bearing weapons pointed at Harry and his valet where he crouches at the rear of the taxi.

 _Fuck._ “Into the car, now,” he orders, ducking down to take pot shots at the persons who are dressed in black and determined to kill him for being a poor lunch guest.

“Not the time to be gettin’ your Bond on, luv.”

Harry empties his gun, blowing up the second vehicle only for its occupants to scatter to the four winds.  “Son of a bitch.” He discards his second clip and reloads.  “Do as I say!”

“Oi, you ain’t the boss of me.”

 _For fuck’s sake. I am going to_ murder _Merlin from Beyond if this boy gets me killed._ He vows the man will never again know a moment’s peace for the rest of his days.

Just as Harry’s is about to kneecap Eggsy just so he can throw him into the bulletproof taxi, their situation worsens with approach of another vehicle.  Harry taps his spectacles for HQ.

“Anytime you’d like to intervene it would be greatly appreciated. You know, if you’ve got the time to spare.”

“Backup is headed your way. Hold the centre.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Trust Eggsy.”

“I scarcely trust you at the moment.”

“Trust him, Harry.”

Harry takes a bullet to the knee and is down to one instantaneously. “Shit.” He returns fire.  “Here’s a note for R&D: Impact resistance could really use some improvement.”  There isn’t a speck of blood on him, but the bruising is going to be unholy hell.

The taxi and Harry, and Eggsy though Harry can’t see him directly, take hits from moving targets who duck in and out of open throughways to get off shots at them. Harry lands a couple of a headshots, a body strike. Somebody get done in by a timely ricochet. There’s no counting whether he’s got them all as he didn’t know how many assailants there were to begin with.

Finally, the old abbey falls silent of gunfire. Only the continuing roar of the burning cars draws his hearing. There’s no movement that he can tell. He waits to see if any of their friends are playing opossum on the grass.

“Anything,” he asks Eggsy, and receives a negative sound in response. Without letting his guard down, Harry leans back against the dented driver door of the taxi to take some of the pressure off his tender knee. He hates knee shots.

Harry pauses to breathe but Eggsy starts circling the car as a squirrel would a tree.  Harry gets as far as asking what’s got him so worked up when a bloody fourth vehicle barrels into the side of the abbey and brings down one of the century-old flagstone walls with it.

“You must be kidding!” Harry rolls to his feet and limps to the boot of the cab where the mobile arsenal is located. They’ve got seconds before the shock of impact wears off and brings their new challengers running, not the mention any that might still be lying in wait. They may have to make for the water’s edge, after all.

 “What the _fuck_?” Eggsy mutters beside him. He seems to be addressing nobody in particular so much as this wretched day. Harry sympathizes.  “Fourth car. Fourth car. Fuck, I shoulda mentioned that.”  Eggsy takes up a handgun as Harry pulls more ammunition whilst sizing up a missile launcher with a familiar excitable eye.  It’s unclear whether the late and lamented Lee is the only one he takes after.  _He’s been under Merlin’s corrupting influence much too long._   Harry finds himself quietly envious, a thought he disregards at once.

“You didn’t mention a third car.”

“You didn’t ask,” Eggsy snaps back as he takes up position inside the passenger door, using it as a barrier against whoever will come.

Harry drops into a ready stance behind the rear door, trusting that he’ll be able to make up for Eggsy’s possible lack of aim. “Nor a fourth.”

“I fucked up. I know I did. I thought you’d spotted ‘em.” Eggsy takes out the first pair of legs that moves in two shots, one for each. They topple on the other side of the half-crushed vehicle. They don’t move again.  _A good shot_. Harry is impressed.

“If you’re going to be anything to me, you need to realize that I need _all_ the information you have. Not just what you think I don’t know.”

Harry shoots the first balaclava-covered head that appears. The report drowns out the grotesque sound of a broken skull impacting pavement. He takes out three more and then the third car’s tinted windshield for good measure. He needs to see inside for possible hostiles.

“Wicked.”  The boy sounds mesmerised.  Harry fights a tingle of pleasure at the notion. Kingsman is an impressive force; it stands to reason that its agents ought to be as well. Nothing more.

They take turns picking off the uniformed bodies pouring out of the woodwork till the familiar engine noise of the Kingsman cavalry fills the air.

“They’re coming.”

Eggsy drops his head out of relief. “Thank fuck.”

“I concur.”

Hearing the tactical extraction squaddies making quick work of whoever’s left, Harry rises to stand on his tired feet, rubbing his knee. Eggsy joins him, looking not a little upset at himself. Harry isn’t sure he should be.

“I don’t doubt your tenacity, Eggsy, but if anything today’s misadventures proved that I’m quite capable of working alone. What can you bring to the table that I can’t do for myself?  What have you been trained to do?”

Eggsy suddenly raises his weapon and fires six shots over Harry’s shoulder. He whips around to see two masked, armed persons, each struck with double taps to the central body mass and a single bullet between the eyes.  They land in lifeless lumps on the dead and dying grass.

Every shot was perfect.

The younger man takes a deep breath. “I’m trained to do that.”

The shots echo out over the water and into the surrounding borough.  They’re going to be amnesia darting terrified civilians for hours.  Merlin can be heard cursing away inside the manor.  Harry feels a faint stirring of sympathy.

“Whatever you might have been told, I don’t need a protector.”

Eggsy shrugs, no longer flirtatious but not in the least apologetic.  “Sorry, luv. I’m your body man. You cover the mission, I make sure you get home intact.  That’s how it’s gonna be.”

Harry respects his fervency, if nothing else.

“We’ll see about that.”

“Yeah?” Eggsy puffs up, chest out, and raring for a fight he must have foreseen from the start.  “You wanna argue against having somebody backing you up? What’s the problem? Is it my accent? You want me to fake posh for you, talk all proper like?” This is a sore spot Harry recognizes.

“I don’t care about your accent. I care that you’re an unknown quantity being placed in harm’s way. I take issue with that.”

“I been trained. Ask Merlin. You saw me shoot, you’ve seen me drive. What else do you need to know?”

“Whether you’re reliable.”

“I was here today. I’ll be here next time you call. Merlin’s even got a function for me in those specs o’ yours. He’ll show you how to page me. It don’t matter where in the world you are, I’ll be there. By rickshaw or pogo stick, I’m your man.”

Harry takes in Eggsy’s squared stance and planted feet, his chin raised in expectation of another showdown, one he can’t shoot his way free of.  He expects to be dismissed and sent away, much as his father had.  Harry owes them both better than a snap judgement.

“What’s it gonna be, then, bruv?”

“Yes, Galahad, don’t leave us in suspense.” Of course Merlin has pulled Arthur into the mix at Mission Control.

“We’ll see.”

“So what, you ain’t turning me out on sight? I’m gettin’ a chance.”  His hard expression falters, revealing more uncertainty than he likely means to.  His heart is in this.

“One,” Harry confirms.  “As you’ve said, you’ve proven yourself useful. Let’s see if you can keep it up.”

Just like that, the flirtatious Eggsy of their earlier acquaintance returns, all suggestive tone and gaze.

“Keeping it up ain’t a problem I ever had, trust.  You can see that anytime you like.” He raises a scarred brow to lend his words a jot more weight. It works.

Harry makes a point of appearing unamused, though the images Eggsy’s words bring to mind are enough to give him pause.

One day, if Eggsy Unwin is as good as his word or even as good as he looks, Harry may have some use for fitting room three after all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: AU in which Harry's got a new valet and FUCK he's hot and is he just being nice or is he flirting with me??
> 
> This didn't come out as cute as was probably intended, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own any characters recognizable as being from Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015). They are the property of their actors, producers, writers, and studios, not me. No copyright infringement was intended and no money was made in the writing or distribution of this story. It was good, clean fun.
> 
> If you guys wanna talk/flail/flop with me on Tumblr, I'm [sententiousandbellicose](http://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com).


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